The Very First Hunger Games
by xXPercidiaJacksonXx
Summary: Exactly what the title says. The very first Hunger Games... ever. Enjoy!
1. Chapter 1

Hello!

I'm a bit new to the Hunger Games fandom. Most people may know me from the Percy Jackson fandom. Yeah, I'm that weird chick that's writing a trilogy?

Anyways, I LOVE the Hunger Games. The trilogy is amazing. Who here's Team Peeta? =)

I've never really seen a story about the very FIRST Hunger Games, so I'll try my best on it.

Will be in the POV of an OC name Katy Grite. (rhymes with right?)

* * *

><p>The television beeps. My mother turns it on, then sits on the couch beside me.<p>

Jim Mills, the host of a very popular show in the Capitol, is on. He's decked out in a bright yellow pinstripe suit. He skin is dyed the usual magenta. His deep blue listick is smudged. I've always thought how the citizens of the Capitol look so silly from the rest of Panem.

A picture of a ruined Justice Building appears behind Jim.

"It's happened, people. District 13 has finally collapsed. The Dark Days are over. Now, President Ridds would like to make a special announcement..." The camera switches over the President Ridds, standing behind a podium in front of a huge crowd. She's dressed in her usual tight black gown, which makes her pale skin look white. You can see the dark etchings of her lacy tattoo near her eyes clearly. Her bright green hair glowed in the spotlight. I've always respected President Ridds. She's done what's best for the districts.

President Ridds took out a piece of paper. "'Due to the Dark Days,'" she read, "'I am issuing that two children from each district - one boy and one girl - must fight to the death to show that each district must bow down against the Capitol.'"

My mother gasps, then holds me and my little brother tight. She sobs on my shoulder.

"'Every year,'" the president continued, "'twenty-four children shall be in an arena, killing each other, trying to survive. These children shall be between the ages of...'" President Ridds choked. "Twelve and eighteen. If your name is drawn, then a person may volunteer to take your place. The names of these games shall be called the Hunger Games.'"

I stare into space. I'm thirteen right now. Which means I'm eligible for the Hunger Games.

* * *

><p>So, it's short, but this is just a prolouge, sort of. Oh, and no, I don't need anyone to submit any characters for me. I'm fine. =)<p>

So, please review, and tell me what you think!

~Percidia Jackson


	2. Chapter 2

Hello!

I'm a bit new to the Hunger Games fandom. Most people may know me from the Percy Jackson fandom. Yeah, I'm that weird chick that's writing a trilogy?

Anyways, I LOVE the Hunger Games. The trilogy is amazing. Who here's Team Peeta? =)

I've never really seen a story about the very FIRST Hunger Games, so I'll try my best on it.

Will be in the POV of an OC name Katy Grite. (rhymes with right?)

* * *

><p>"Did you hear about the Hunger Games?" My best friend Mitchell asks me. We've been best friends since Kindergarten. I still remember that day. We were sitting at the same table, eating a snack when Mitchell started to eat glue. I told him what my mother always told me when I went through that phase: <em>If you keep eating glue, your mouth will get glued shut. <em>He stared at me, then I took the glue away from him and threw it across the room. It hit the teacher, and we both started laughing. We lost our recess privileges for that day, but it was worth. If not for that, Mitchell and I would've never became friends.

"Yeah," I tell him. "My mother wouldn't let me fall asleep last night. She kept hugging me, and smothering me."

"My mom did the same thing, so did Charlie."

Charlie was Mitchell's older brother. He was nineteen, so he doesn't get to be in the Hunger Games. Lucky him.

"You think we'll be drawn?" I ask him. I'm very scared at the thought. I don't like to kill bugs, let alone people. I'd probably be one of the first people to die.

"Naw," He answers. "There's hundreds of kids in District One. The odds of us being picked is about one in one hundred."

"So when are they going to draw names?" I sit down on a tree stump.

"Today," I hear him mutter. He sits down on the stump beside me. "I hear they're going to air the Hunger Games on television. While they happen."

I feel so sick to my stomach that I want to throw up. We'll be watching a massacre of children killing themselves? That's just not right. "There's this saying going around," I tell Mitchell. "It's 'May the odds be ever in your favor'."

"Yeah, they better be," Mitchell mumbles. He gets up and dusts off his loose, black pants. "Come on," he offers me a tan hand. "Let's take a walk, get our minds off of this thing. We could even visit Aunt Mad."

Aunt Mad wasn't really our aunt. Or anybody's aunt, really. Everyone just called her that because she acts like an aunt, and is kind of mad. She talks about things that are crazy. She says they will happen in the future. She tell stories about her visions, and makes weird herbal potions that are said to heal a person when they're sick, almost dead, or have a birth defect. She may seem strange at first, but once you get to know her, she's just a nice old lady.

I grab his hand and smile. "I'd like that."

We began to walk down a path that only we know where it leads. It's been said to be haunted, so therefore not many people go down it. Since Mitchell and I aren't really afraid of paranormal activities, we go ahead down it. It always empty, except for the occasional lost traveler. The path is long, and filled with many twists and turns, and holes. A couple of times, my foot gets stuck in one and I twist my ankle. It hurts, but only for a second. We continue on until we reach our destination: a beautiful pond.

I begin sprinting towards it. Mitchell and I named it Lake Mystery, because every time we visit it, it always has some sort of mystery there. I take off my boots and slip my feet into the cool water. A breeze caresses my face. I close my eyes and enjoy the moment. I hear Mitchell slip in the water beside me. He grabs my left hand, and holds it tight. I savor the moment.

"This is perfect," I whisper. And it is. I feel like time has frozen. Mitchell and I are the only people in the world. We don't have to worry about our names being drawn to be in the Hunger Games. We don't have to worry about growing old. It's just him and I, and I and him. Together.

Mitchell inches closer to me. He releases my hand and I hear his hand dip in the water. A few seconds later, he pours the refreshing water on top of my head.

My eyes jolt open and I see him, laughing at my wet, clingy hair. I scoop some of the water and splash it at him. It goes in his mouth, and now it's my turn to laugh. We end up splashing each other over and over until we're soaked all over. Laughing, we trod out of the water and lie down on the soft, green grass, next to each other. Mitchell takes my hand, and says, "If one of us _does _end up in the arena..."

"The other helps with their family?" I finish for him.

"Wow, now you can read my mind?" He smiles.

I don't remember what happened after that. All I remember is drifting off to sleep, dreaming about a world full of lushous meadows and freshwater springs and beautiful sunflowers reaching towards the sky. And Mitchell, of course. Just Mitchell and me, staring at the sky forever, hand in hand.

* * *

><p>"Wake up, Katy." Mitchell gently shakes me. My eyes flutter open and I see his face, in front of mine.<p>

"Wha?' I ask weakly, my voice hoarse.

"It's almost time for that Hunger Games drawing. I think they call it a reaping."

I immediately get up. "Let's go!" I grab his hand and began to quickly drag him out of the meadow.

We sprint down the path to the center of the district. Everyone's there, wearing their finest clothes they own. Here we are, wearing our usual, ratty clothes. It raises a couple of eyebrows.

A woman with lemon colored hair and aqua gems planted in the skin outlining her eyes stood on the stage. Two brown baskets sat in front of her. "Ladies first!" She announced, then began to rummage through the basket on the left. She took out a piece of paper, then read, "'Katy Grite.'" My eyes widen. I can feel Mitchell grip my hand tight. The audience is quiet. All eyes turn to me as I walk onto stage. The woman hands me the paper. he goes through the second basket. I know whose name it is even before she reads it: "'Mitchell Viden.'" Our worst nightmares have come true. Mitchell and I are going to be in the Arena of Death.

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><p>Second chapter up! Tell me how I'm doing.<p>

~Percidia Jackson


	3. Chapter 3

Hello!

I'm a bit new to the Hunger Games fandom. Most people may know me from the Percy Jackson fandom. Yeah, I'm that weird chick that's writing a trilogy?

Anyways, I LOVE the Hunger Games. The trilogy is amazing. Who here's Team Peeta? =)

I've never really seen a story about the very FIRST Hunger Games, so I'll try my best on it.

Will be in the POV of an OC name Katy Grite. (rhymes with right?)

* * *

><p>The woman who performed the reaping introduces herself as Sabrina Trinecle.<p>

"I will be your escort," she tells us as she shakes hands with Mitchell and me. "And you schedule caretaker. It's my job to make sure you get to everywhere on time." She points to man that I know immediately to be a soldier from the Dark Days. He was decked out in the standard armywear: dark green uniform, black combat boots, a few guns behind his back. He had a few buttons and medals pinned on his shirt. There was an eyepatch covering his left eye, with a deep, pale scar running above it and below it. The man himself looked hardened by war, like he'd seen it all. He had a short cropped buzz cut and dark piercing eyes that looked deep into your soul. "That's Harter. He will be you mentor, the one who will help you with training. He's a bit tough on the outside, but he's nothing more than a crippled teddy bear."

Sabrina takes out a clipboard. "You have exactly one day to say good-bye to your family and friends. Not any longer than that. I expect you here tomorrow at five o'clock sharp." She walked away with Harter.

"She's strict," I mutter to Mitchell. He just stares out into space. I snap my fingers in front of his face.

"What?" He says after he snaps back into reality.

"What were you thinking?" I ask. I put a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"This." He leans in and kisses me passionately. I object at first, but then as he grabs my waist and begans to pull me towards him, I enjoy it. I tangle my fingers in his golden hair. His lips against mine, it feels so... right. I'm enjoying every minute of it... I stop and push him away.

"I'm sorry. I can't do this. We're about to kill each other in an arena. We can't be in a relationship."

"So, you do feel the same way?" Mitchell asks, his eyebrow raised.

I look up into his hazel eyes. "Yeah."

"For how long?" He pushes back a loose strand of my red hair.

"I'm not sure. Since I was nine, I guess."

I remember it as clear as the water at Lake Mystery. My little brother, Callen, who was eight at the time, was stuck up in a tree. For some stupid reason, he climbed it because of a dare even when he _knew _he was afraid of heights. No one could convince him to come down, and not that many adults in our district had the strength or guts to climb that tree. Mitchell, tired from seeing me and my mom cry, I guess, began to climb up there. He picked up Callen, set him on his shoulders, then began to climb down the tree. I hugged Mitchell after he sat Callen down.

"After I saved Callen?" Mitchell asked.

"Yeah," I replied. My cheeks turned a soft rose-like hue.

Mitchell smiled his famous crooked smile. "You really are falling hard for me, aren't you?" he joked.

"No, not _that _-" I protest. I'm cut of by Mitchell playfully shoving me. I catch myself before I can hit the concrete ground.

"See? You're falling for me."

"Mitchell Liste! I am _not _falling for you!" I defend myself.

"Oh?" Mitchell's eyebrow raises. "Then why does it seem like you enjoyed that little kiss we just shared, and confessed your love for me?"

"You know why I'm not falling for you?" I challenged.

"Why?" Mitchell retorted. Crossing his arms, he looked as hardened as Harter.

"Because, I already fell for you." I turned around, and sprinted towards my house, leaving Mitchell standing there.

Fifty feet away, I turned back and looked. Mitchell slouches, and begins to grumble and walk away. I could imagine what he was saying: "Girls are so hard to understand." I mentally chuckle; Mitchell and I are so close, we can tell what we're pretty much going to say before we say it. It can get annoying sometimes.

I turned back to the direction of my house, and jogged the rest of the way there.

* * *

><p>The moment I walk into the door, I am tackled with a hug from Callen.<p>

"Callen!" I exasperate and try to shove him off.

"Please don't die, Katy!" He looks at me straight in the eye. His eyes were puffy and red from crying. "Don't die."

"I won't," I promise. It's an empty promise, one that would most likely never be kept. Twenty-four kids in an arena, fight to the death. Only one can win. I would probably get killed the first day. The odds are definitely _not _in my favor.

My mom enters our living room. Her eyes match Callen's, with thick lines of her mascara running. She hugs one of my dad's old jackets; his favorite one that he always wore, before he left us. I know that is not a good sign. Mom dislikes the sight of that jacket, and only brings it out when situations are dire.

"Katy?" she croakes. She dashed to where I was standing and hugged me tight. I felt the wrinkly leather of Dad's jacket against my face. "I don't want you to go. If only someone else had volunteered..." She trails off obviously thinking about what it would be like if someone _did _volunteer for me.

I escape her hold and comfortingly put my hands on her shoulders. "Everything happens for a reason, Mom. If I die, just know that it was meant to be."

My mother nods vigorously, then softly sobs. She points towards the kitchen. "I made your favorites: French-style bread, cheddar clam soup, and hot white chocolate." She splurged; we only get that kind of a feast near the holidays, if we can afford it. My eyes trail towards Callen, who doesn't even gag when mom mentions the cheddar clam soup; he hates it more than anything in the world.

We take our places, and quietly enjoy our meal. Every minute or so, Mom and Callen would exchange gloomy glances with each other, exchanging a mental conversation. By the end of dinner, Mom was bawling her eyes out every time she looked at me.

"Really, Mom. It'll be fine," I comfort her.

She sniffs, then takes a good look at me, like she's trying to remember what I look like. "You're right, Katy. Completely right. I need to calm down; you're a strong girl, one who won't succumb to dying. You'll fight for your life." She strides towards the hall closet and begins to rummage through it. After finding what she is looking for, she hastily walks back.

In her hands, she holds a thin headband. It's a light colored blue, with the words "DISTRICT 1" stitched on in gold. "This was mine, when I was a little girl," My mom tells me. "Wear it; wear District 1's pride into the arena." She slipped in on my forehead, then guided me to a mirror.

I look weird, compared to the rest of the district. I don't have blonde hair, tan skin, or the usual hazel/green eyes. I look like my father; black hair, bright blue eyes, and fair complexion. My father was originally from District 12, and met my mom at the Capitol. He moved here with her, since my mom was terrrified of leaving her parents the way they were: sick, crippled, and on the verge of death. Grandma and Grandpa died, anyways, but Dad stayed with mom until Callen was five. Then, he left one day, under mysterious circumstances, for the Capitol. Mom, Callen, and I still believe, he's out there, being held against his will. I just know that someday, before I die, I will meet him again.

The headband brings out the light hues in my eyes, and stands out very well against my black hair. With my hair tied up into pigtails, I look as if I'm a teenager when my mom was.

"It's perfect," I tell Mom. She smiles with joy.

"Sleep, my little pearl." She pulls off the headband. I smile at our little joke; Mom always called me a pearl when I was little, because I "shone bright, brighter than anyone else in the district". I guess she could have called me a star, but she wanted the joke to tie in with the district.

I walk towards my bed, and fall asleep in my clothes.

* * *

><p>So sorry I haven't updated this! I've got three stories to update, and it can be a hassel, really. So, enjoy this chapter, review it, and I'll update when I can.<p>

~Percidia Jackson


	4. Chapter 4

Hello!

I'm a bit new to the Hunger Games fandom. Most people may know me from the Percy Jackson fandom. Yeah, I'm that weird chick that's writing a trilogy?

Anyways, I LOVE the Hunger Games. The trilogy is amazing. Who here's Team Peeta? =)

I've never really seen a story about the very FIRST Hunger Games, so I'll try my best on it.

Will be in the POV of an OC name Katy Grite. (rhymes with right?)

* * *

><p>When I woke up, it was still dark outside. I could hear the soft snores from my mother and Callen. I cautiously tiptoed out of my room, trying very hard not to wake anyone up.<p>

I didn't succeed.

About halfway to the bathroom, Callen exited his room, saw me, whiped the sleep away from his eyes, and asked, "Katy? What are you doing up so early?" He asked that rather loudly, so I shh-ed him.

"I thought that Mitchell and I would spend the whole day together, before we try to kill each other," I whispered. "Go back to sleep. If Mom wakes up, and you're not there, she'll freak out." I entered the bathroom, hoping Callen heeded my advice.

I took a short shower in cold water and dressed in my usual mud-stain jeans, blue tank top, and olive green windbreaker. I slipped on a pain of wore-out leather boots. "So much for being the district with all the 'specialty goods' if we can't afford them," I muttered, while lacing up the black boots. I combed my hair, then put it up in my trademark low-pigtails. I slipped the headband Mom gave me over my forehead.

"Looks fine," I mumbled to myself in the mirror. Like I really care what I look like. Never have, and probably never will.

I grabbed a couple of granola bars from the pantry. A real sprlurge, since we haven't had a shipment from District 11 in over three weeks. Jolting out the door, I headed to the only place I knew Mitchell would be at: Lake Mystery.

* * *

><p>"Hey," I call to Mitchell when I arrive at Lake Mystery. I walk over to him. He's sitting on a stump, one he carved himself to be more comfortable. His hair was combed and gelled, which was unusual for him. It made him look more... sophisticated, I guess. His clothes were nicer than mine, with his baby blue button up shirt, and black jeans. He wore black tennis shoes, the ones he only wore on special occasions.<p>

I sat in the chair/stump beside him. "Your mom make you dress like that?"

"Yep," he replied, with that same distant expression in his eyes. He looked over at me and cracked a smile. "Did your mom make you dress like that?"

"Oh, definitely," I replied sarcastically, then laughed. Mitchell joined in, but only for a few seconds. He then looked out to the sunrise. "How many of those do you think we have left?"

"Left of what?" I asked stupidly.

"Sunrises. And sunsets," Mitchell added. "I hope more than this one." He grabbed my hand, and looked straight into my eyes. "I wil try my hardest to protect you, in the arena. I'm not sure if I could live with myself if I let you die."

"Mitchell-"

"No, Katy," Mitchell interrupted, using a tone I have never heard him use when he was speaking to me. "Listen to me. You will live. You're strong. Me, not so much."

"Maybe we could bend the rules. If they see how in love we are, they might let both of us live," I offered.

"I doubt it. We're just pawns of the Capitol. We go out, and do their dirty work, just to get killed." Mitchell looks away. I know who he's thinking of: his dad and brother. A few years ago, the Capitol came to "recruit" people for the Dark Days. Long story short, if you were picked, you had to go, no if's, and's, or but's. Mitchell's dad and older brother, Jackson, were picked to fight for the Capitol. They never made it home.

I put a comforting hand on his shoulder. "We'll be fine." I looked over his head. "What's that?" I got up from my seat and sprinted to a bright flower in the middle of green grass, with Mitchell not far behind me.

I stopped, right in front of a flower. "It's a violet," I whispered to Mitchell. I turned to him, and exclaimed, "A violet!" In District 1, violet is normally a good luck charm, because it doesn't grow much around here. I've heard many stories of people who find a violet, and obtain large amounts of wealth, food, valuable items. Maybe this means Mitchell and I _will _win the Hunger Games.

I pick the violet slowly from the ground, careful not to rip any roots. I know a recipe for violet stew, that I can make with ingredients found right here, at Lake Mystery. All I need is some water, a couple of cattails, berries, and some spices found around here.

"Violet stew?" Mitchell askes.

I nod. "Start the fire. I gather the ingredients." Mitchell nods, then goes off into the wood to collect firewood. I head towards the other side of the wood, to gather some berries. I'm not sure what type of berries they are, but they're filled with sugary sweetness, so I call them sugarberries. I first tasted them at Aunt Mad's cottage, when I was around four. I was a bit skeptical of the deep crimson color and plump roundness, but I ate them anyways.

I grabbed a basket I strategically hid in a hollow rock by the berry bush that I normally use as a pot for food, and started picking the best looking sugarberries I could find. After ten minutes of picking, the basket was filled, and I walked back to where Mitchell should have the fire started, grabbing the hollow rock as I go.

Mitchell had just came back from the wood when I arrived. I set down the basket. "That's a lot of firewood," I muse.

"It's getting cold. This year isn't as warm as years past." Just him saying that sends a chill down my spine. What Mitchell said has a metaphoric meaning, as well as a physical meaning. "You okay?" he askes, noticing how I am hugging my jacket tightly.

"Just cold," I replied, my teeth slightly chattering.

Mitchell comes over and hugs me. Just the touch of his warm skin sends relief throughout my body. I hug him back tightly, no wanting to ever let go...

"Better?" Mitchell askes, interrupting my train of thought.

"Better," I agree. We let go, and awkwardly stand there, waiting for something to happen. I decide to be that something, and say, "We should probably start the fire."

"Yeah. Good idea." Mitchell walks to the lake to collect stones, and I follow him, so I can collect the cattails and spices. Just a few cattails. Those things add a very bitter taste to the stew if too many are in there.

I took out a sharp knife to cut the first cattail. I sawed through the stem, and set it beside me. I repeated that process two more times, and walked back to the place where we would start our fire, then set them down beside the berries. I walked back to the lake to gather some alfalfa, wild onion, chives, basil, and some katniss roots.

I walk back to the berries and cattails, and set them there too. Mitchell has already started to place the stones on the dirt. He kneels down and feels the ground. "It's a little dry. Could you go and get some -"

I grab the hollow rock. "I'm on it." I walk back to the lake, fill the large rock up with water, then hike back. I pour small amounts of the water on the ground, for I don't intend on going back to the lake for more water.

"That's good," Mitchell says, when the rock is about three-quarters full. Which is fine, because that's more than plenty for two people. Mitchell places the fire wood in the stone circle. He takes out a small flask of gasoline and gently pours it, little by little. When he is satisfied by how much gasoline is on the wood, he stops pouring and puts away the flask. He then takes out a small box of matches, which he must've snuck from his mom. He takes out one match, the swipes it across the box. A bright orange flames appears on the end. Mitchell tosses it into the firewood, which immediately catches fire.

Now it's my turn to act. Mitchell hands me the metal rack; I set it over the fire, cautious not to burn my hands. Then I heave the rock/pot on top of it. I let it boil for some time. Next I begin to smash the berries with a carved stick Mitchell made a few months ago. "So you won't have to use your hands," he told me sheepishly when he gave it to me. I smash the berries to a paste-like state, then pour them into the boiling water. Next, I begin to chop up the herbs over the pot. I was carefully not to slice my hand, which is what happened the first time I attempted to cut up herbs. Then, I finely chop the three brown cattails on a cutting board. I wait awhile before putting those in the stew. Finally, I lowered the violet plant into the water. I took a wooden spoon and began to stir the ingredients.

"Mmm, smells like someone is making violet stew," a voice called from the wood. I'd know that voice anywhere; Aunt Mad's. She arrived out of the wood, then said, "Katy, Mitchell, what are you doing here? Don't you know you were chosen to fight in the Hunger Games?" Aunt Mad always states the obvious.

"Really?" Mitchell asked sincerely. "I had no idea."

"Oh, don't play funny with me boy," Aunt Mad snapped. She then surprised us by laughing. "Oh, I don't mind. Do you have enough stew for three?"

"Plenty," I reply. Mitchell hands her a hollow-rock-bowl. I continue to stir.

"You know, you have a very good chance of winning, Katy," Aunt Mad tells me. "With your culinary talent and skills with a knife."

"Yes because I could definitely chop a person up and serve them up in a soup," I mutter sarcastically.

"Katy," Aunt Mad says seriously. "I have foretold that one of you shall win. The other... I'm not quite sure. It's very fuzzy. But it will be tragic." She took a small pouch out of her jacket pocket. "Here. This is a little something I have made for you two. There's two bottles inside. Take it before you enter the arena." She hands me the pouch.

"What is it?" I ask.

"My lips are sealed. But it will greatly impact what will happen."

We sat there, in silence, with only the bubbling of the stew being heard.

With one final stir, I announced, "The stew is done."

I filled Aunt Mad's bowl first, then Mitchell's and finally my own.

I set my stew off to the side, to let it cool. "Let's talk strategy; should we team up with others?"

"I don't see why not," Aunt Mad replies, sipping her stew. "It would put you at a greater advantage."

"But with who?" Mitchell wondered out loud. "District 7 would be nice. District 11 would put us at an advantage, since they know their plants."

"Yes, but what if they aren't very nice? They could be total snobs and -"

"I'm only hypothesising here," Mitchell interrupted. "We'll see if they're nice when we get there." He gulped down his soup. "And Aunt Mad is right; you do have some awesome culinary talents. If we could get you to hunt..."

"No way. I am strict vegetarian," I reply hastily.

Mitchell's hands flew up in surrender. "I'm only saying; you could have much more food variety if you hunt."

"I sure I can learn," I say, just to shut him up. It's an empty promise, one I hope I never have to fufill. I sip my stew. "What time did Sabrina say we have to be there?"

"Five 'o clock sharp," Mitchell says in a terrible Capitol accent. "Why?"

I gulp down the rest of my soup. "What time is it?"

He checks his black leather watch. "Four fifty-five!" Mitchell rushes to get up. "I'm sorry, Aunt Mad. We need to go." He sprints off towards the wood. I get up, and follow him, shouting a sincere "Sorry!" back to Aunt Mad.

* * *

><p>So, there you have it. Chapter 4.<p>

REVIEW!

~Percidia Jackson


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